Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Kill Shot	By : Lizski Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 12742 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don’t own the world of Harry Potter, or the characters – I just borrow them on occasion. I’m most definitely not making any money off this.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter Six

Hermione looked at the wrapped package in her dressing room. The label read Madam Malkin’s. She was happy to see the robes-for-any-and-all-occasions store had survived the economic crisis surrounding the rise and fall of Voldemort. Still, she was a little hesitant to open the parcel. Lucius had obviously ordered something for her to wear to dinner tonight, yet he most certainly didn’t know her well enough to know her taste in clothing; Merlin only knew what he had ordered.

With trepidation, she unwrapped the ubiquitous brown paper to reveal a dress box. She looked idly at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Do I have enough time to exchange it for something else if I don’t like it? As soon as she removed the lid she felt her breath catch in her throat. Before she removed the dress from the box, she fingered the material, a very pale pink lace over a matching pale pink taffeta. She lifted out the dress and held it by the shoulders, letting it hang free in her hands. I guess I don’t have to worry about exchanging it! It’s gorgeous! That’s what I get for doubting Lucius’ taste, she grinned happily.

Hermione examined the dress closely, marveling at the workmanship and fine details. It had a fitted bodice and waist, set off by a full tea-length skirt. A simple neckline and ¾-length sleeves completed the dress, giving it a flattering and sophisticated look. Hermione continued to look over the dress; this was definitely a present from a man who didn’t know the recipient particularly well and didn’t want to risk insulting her by giving her something too modest, yet didn’t want to risk an equal but different type of insult by giving her something too revealing. For someone who didn’t know her style, Lucius had chosen very well.

She put the dress down on the bed and noticed the matching shoes included in the box. If she knew Madam Malkin, the shoes, like the dress, would fit perfectly. The shoes were simple pumps with 3-inch heels, dyed to match the delicate coloring of the dress. Mentally crossing her fingers that she wouldn’t face-plant in the high heels, she put them aside with a wry smile. Running shoes were much more her style, but her Pumas wouldn’t exactly go with the dress.

A note had arrived at the same time as the box but had been delivered by a different owl. She reached for it:

Hermione –

I hope the dress meets with your approval. If not, please contact Madam Malkin immediately so she can make any necessary changes.

Maisey can help you with your maquillage and any adornments and accessories you require.

– L.

Hermione puzzled over the familiarity implied by his signature, not quite sure what to make of it but feeling an unexpected pleasure all the same. “L.” indeed. He was clearly enjoying himself. She smiled and then re-read the note. Maisey must be the house-elf he had managed to enlist. “Maquillage”? Who uses that word anymore? Clearly “makeup” isn’t good enough for him; he has to use “maquillage”. Maybe it’s his French ancestry. Maybe he’s an intellectual snob. Or maybe he’s just hopelessly archaic. She wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or amused. But she had more immediate worries. Accessories? What on earth – oh. Jewelry. She thought about it. Of course. You can’t wear a dress like this without any jewelry. At least the dress was a pale enough color that she could wear the only real jewelry she owned: a small blue teardrop sapphire surrounded by smaller diamonds in a simple pendant on a platinum chain, and a pair of diamond stud earrings. She had inherited the jewelry from her great-grandmother and had only worn it a few times in her life. But the sapphire would look good against the pale pink of the dress, and diamond earrings went with everything. She hung up the dress, thankful that clothes from Madam Malkin’s never wrinkled, then undressed and headed for the shower.

When she emerged from the shower a house-elf was perched on the toilet. “I is Maisey. Dobby is sending Maisey to help Miss,” she chirped brightly.

Hermione grabbed a towel, “Uh, hello, Maisey.”

“Maisey used to be assisting the old master’s wife,” the elf responded.

“Narcissa?” Hermione asked, surprised that Lucius’ conspicuously elitist wife had allowed house-elves anywhere near her. On the other hand, the woman’s appearance had always been impeccable; Maisey must know her stuff, or she wouldn’t have lasted in Narcissa’s presence for long.

The elf nodded proudly.

“Excellent,” Hermione responded sincerely. “Because I’m going to need all your magic. My hair is, uh,” she gestured at her wet curls, “a bit of a challenge, and I’m not very good with makeup.”

“Don’t you worry, Miss,” Maisey responded gravely. “Miss doesn’t need as much work as –” the elf shut her lips suddenly. “You is giving Maisey more to work with.” The elf seemed happier with that statement.

Hermione smiled in response. “Thank you. But please, do whatever is necessary; I want to look stunning.” And then she immediately wondered why she had said that. Perhaps merely to do the dress justice. Or maybe she wanted to show Lucius she could wear something other than jeans and running clothes. She wasn’t really sure, when she paused to think about it. Whatever the reason, she knew she wanted to look dazzling.

The elf handed Hermione her dressing gown and ushered her into a seat in front of a large, well-lit mirror. When Maisey was finished and bade her look in the mirror, Hermione could immediately see why the house-elf had had the honor (dubious as it might be) of serving as Narcissa’s personal maid. The mirror let out a low whistle, and for a split second Hermione wondered if the face in the mirror was actually her own. The elf had tamed her curls into an elegant up-do, leaving a few tendrils to frame her face. Her makeup was expertly done; it was her face, just . . . better. Somehow, the elf had even managed to give her a manicure.

“Wow,” Hermione breathed. “You are fantastic, Maisey! A regular miracle worker! Thank you!”

If house-elves could blush, Maisey would have. Instead, she just looked inordinately pleased with herself.

“Miss can relax before getting dressed,” the elf urged, after examining her work for a final time. “Miss is wanting to be at least five minutes late,” she squeaked.

“No. I actually want to be on time,” Hermione replied gently. “I don’t believe in being ‘fashionably late’.” The elf’s eyes widened more than usual, but again she said nothing and began to help Hermione get dressed.

“Is Miss needing any jewelry?” the elf asked.

“Uh, no.” Hermione was confused. All her jewelry was sitting on the dressing table in front her: the necklace and earrings. “It’s all here. If you could help me with the earrings . . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Maisey looked like she wanted to say something, but instead of speaking she clamped her mouth shut and hopped back up on the stool she had been using when fixing Hermione’s hair. Hermione knew better than to ask the elf what she was going to say; if she wasn’t going to tell her directly, Maisey certainly wasn’t going to tell her if pressed.

After Maisey had helped Hermione into the dress and had arranged the jewelry to her own satisfaction, she pulled Hermione over to a full-length mirror to survey the complete effect. Hermione couldn’t help but smile at her reflection. She was completely transformed. Maybe Lucius was on to something with the whole “dressing for dinner” thing; she looked great, and, she had to admit, it felt good. She grinned at her reflection, Face it, Granger. This makes a nice change from jeans and sweats all the time. Of course, it didn’t hurt to have an extremely skilled elf to make it all possible. “Thank you, Maisey. I definitely couldn’t have done this myself. You are a genius!”

The elf made embarrassed but appreciative noises. “Is Miss needing Maisey for anything else?” she asked.

Hermione shook her head, and before she could thank the elf again, the creature had vanished. Hermione took a final look in the mirror and then took a deep breath. Time for Lucius Malfoy and his formal dinner. The thought suddenly struck her as absurdly funny and she giggled. Hermione Granger, Mudblood Extraordinaire, was having dinner with Lucius Malfoy, retired Death Eater. In his manor. That she now owned. She heard Rod Serling’s voice in her head: “Hermione Granger, you have just entered The Twilight Zone”.

She left her rooms and felt an inexplicable wave of nervousness wash over her. She took a deep breath and, remembering the image of herself in the mirror, immediately felt better. She walked down the hallway and across the large entry hall to the drawing room, wobbling only once before she felt comfortable in her heels. Wall sconces flickered at the entrance to the drawing room, and Hermione walked in, her heart pounding in her chest.

The room had thick stone walls on two sides and newer plaster walls on the other two sides, suggesting that the room had once been much larger. A high wood ceiling was blackened with the smoke of centuries, and a huge fireplace dominated one of the stone walls. The other was decorated with elaborate tapestries depicting a dragon hunt that looked as though things were going rather less well for the hunters than they had been hoping, based on the number of bodies scattered across the tapestry panels. The room had a sideboard against the back wall, a few bookshelves, an antique table holding a chess set, and other scattered furniture, including a matched grouping of chairs and couches. Mab’s knickers! I don’t think I’ve ever been in this room for more than a minute or so. Any further thoughts about the house were stifled as soon as she saw Lucius.

The wizard was standing in front of the fireplace staring at the flames, and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the man in profile. He was immaculately dressed in dark charcoal robes and his blond hair was loose, hanging past his shoulders. He stood proudly erect, and Hermione could only guess at what might be running through his mind. Since he hadn’t seemed to notice her arrival, she took a moment to study his classically aristocratic form and felt her pulse quicken. His high cheekbones and aquiline nose were highlighted by the angle from which she was observing him. And from his nocturnal wanderings, she knew there wasn’t an ounce of fat on the dignified frame. The man was positively majestic. A fallen angel. The thought randomly entered her mind as she examined him. Nope, she thought fervently. I’m not going there. Forcing the thought from her mind, she walked closer to the fireplace, her shoes tapping on the flagstones.

Lucius looked up from the fire and felt his lips curve involuntarily into a smile. This creature couldn’t possibly be the ponytailed young woman in shapeless clothes who had been in the library earlier in the day. Her hair was styled in such a way that his eyes were drawn to her face while simultaneously he felt an overpowering urge to kiss the bare expanse of her neck. Her eyes seemed greener, her lips fuller and most decidedly kissable. Gods. ‘This way madness lies’, he thought as he contemplated how wonderful that particular type of madness could be. But not yet. If he acted too quickly he’d likely find himself back in Azkaban. Thor’s balls! She might not even be interested in me that way. Hades in a basket! How many years has it been since I’ve had to worry about how a woman felt? Ah, well. I need a challenge to keep me occupied.

“Hermione.” The name came out almost as a sigh. She moved toward him and he reached for her hand, bringing her knuckles to his mouth, his lips lingering for the briefest moment longer than was strictly proper. Strongly aware that he was going to have to keep a tight rein on his actions, he released her hand and inclined his head slightly. “Hermione,” he began again, his voice steady. “You, ah, I’m glad to see that the dress, er, met with your approval,” he stated lamely. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Hermione studied Lucius as he took her hand. His dress robes were striking; woven into the cloth around the collar and trailing down the front was a subtle snake motif that appeared emerald only when the light struck it at just the proper angle. Underneath his outer robe Hermione could see hints of an emerald brocade vest. Realizing the she was staring at his chest, she looked up into his slate-grey eyes. He was staring back at her with an intensity she found unnerving, and she moved her gaze quickly to his forehead – decidedly more innocuous – as she felt her cheeks flush. The sensation of his lips on her knuckles didn’t help. This formal dress thing was a bad idea; he had no right to look as good as he did.

“Uh. Yes. A drink would be wonderful,” she replied, forcing a smile to cover her sudden bout of nerves.

“Scotch?” he asked, heading across the room to the sideboard.

“Yes. That would be lovely. Thank you,” she replied, moving in front of the fire. She glanced at the flames before her eye was caught by the elaborate carving in the stone above the fireplace. She examined it, having never noticed it before.

“This room is part of the original keep, before it was turned into a manor house.” Lucius had returned to her side carrying two crystal glasses. He handed her one and raised his own. “Sláinte mhath,” he toasted, looking into her eyes.

“Sláinte mhor,” she replied, her eyes meeting his. They both took swallows of the amber liquid before Hermione looked back to the relief carving of the Malfoy family crest.

“That carving was done over 900 years ago. This was the head of the great hall at the time. Obviously, some remodeling has occurred over the years.” He gave her a close-lipped smile. “If you are interested in history,” he continued, “there’s a book in the library that chronicles the growth of the manor and the family. They’re very much intertwined,” he added, and Hermione thought she saw a shadow cross the wizard’s face, but it was gone so quickly she wondered if she might have merely imagined it.

Hermione felt a sudden pang of regret. The manor had been in the Malfoy family for over 900 years, and she had been the one to bring an end to that astonishing legacy. She felt an unexpected sense of sadness at that realization. Maybe a cure could be found for Draco and she could deed the manor back to him at some point. Or maybe Lucius would remarry and he’d have an heir who could inherit the manor. Although that idea left a bad taste in her mouth – something else to think about when she had the time.

“You should allow me to give you a complete tour of the estate. It really is quite a fascinating place.” The wizard spoke softly, as if aware Hermione’s thoughts were elsewhere.

Realizing her thoughts were just an unproductive distraction, Hermione pushed them aside and returned her attention to the drawing room. “‘Ex obscurum adveho lux lucis’,” she murmured, reading the motto carved above the crest. “Out of darkness comes light,” she translated. “So Lucius is a family name?” she asked teasingly, trying to lighten her own mood.

“Your translation is accurate, but over the generations the motto has been more loosely interpreted as ‘Out of darkness comes enlightenment.’ And yes, Lucius is a family name.” He smirked over his glass.

“’Enlightenment’? So, ah, your family has, ah always been, ah . . . .” She blushed and trailed off, not wanting to directly insult Lucius’ heritage.

“Interested in the Dark Arts?” he finished for her. “Yes. Every, erm, old wizarding family has ties to the Dark Arts. Some are just more honest about it than others.” His smirk broadened.

Hermione’s lips twisted into a wry smile. She was certain Lucius had been ready to say “every pureblood wizarding family” but had held back. Interesting. “Go with your strengths, I guess,” she replied with a smile. She took another sip of her drink and decided she desperately wanted to change the subject. Tonight was not a night for weighty matters, she decided. “Thank you very much for the dress. You’ve got excellent taste.”

“It’s easy to pick something for someone who can wear just about anything,” he replied smoothly. “Although I daresay Madam Malkin was a bit surprised to receive an owl from me.” His lips twitched and he took another sip of his own drink.

“I daresay,” Hermione replied with a smile.

“I’m glad you like it. Hopefully you’ll let me pick out some more dresses for you,” he replied casually.

Hermione almost choked on her drink. “More?” she spluttered. She coughed softly and then tried again. “Er, ah, how many of these dinners did you have in mind, exactly?”

Lucius pretended to ponder the question. “Well, we’re going to have to entertain Severus,”

We? Hermione wondered silently, suddenly aware that it was true. Snape was coming to see both of them.

“And if we survive that encounter, I would like to make – ah – suggest that you consider making this a regular occurrence. Every evening, perhaps. Dressing for dinner makes the entire experience more pleasurable, I’ve found.”

“Every evening?” Hermione found herself asking more loudly than she had anticipated. “I don’t think I can afford –” She shut her mouth abruptly. Her financial situation was really not something she wanted to discuss with Lucius.

His eyes fixed on hers and he looked as though he was about to say something, but he remained silent. Finally he said, “It’s certainly not anything we need to decide this evening. And speaking of this evening, let’s enjoy it. I have gone to a great deal of work.” He gave her a placid smile, but she noticed he left the issue of Severus’ visit untouched.

Hermione smiled, certain much of Lucius’ “work” involved swallowing his pride and being polite to the house-elves. She swallowed the last of her scotch and Lucius did the same.

“Are you ready for dinner?” When she nodded, he offered her his arm. His sense of propriety amused her, and she smiled at him. She took his arm and allowed herself to be escorted into the dining room.

There was a full-length mirror strategically positioned in a corner by the doorway into the dining room. Hermione caught a glimpse of the two of them and wondered briefly who the two people could be; they made a handsome couple. Lucius was stunning, of that there was no doubt, but she couldn’t believe she was the woman in the mirror. That woman was far too poised, too self-assured. Too beautiful. Maybe the mirror was enchanted to make the reflections look better than real life. She thought she saw Lucius smile as they crossed the threshold. She’d have to ask him about that mirror. Sometime. For now, she’d enjoy the illusion.

The dining room was lit by flickering wall sconces and elaborate candelabra on the dining table that could easily seat forty people. Hermione wondered briefly if she would be sitting at one end of the table and Lucius at the other, using their wands to amplify their voices so they’d be able to hear each other. She noticed immediately, however, that there was a place set at the head of the table and a one to the right of that.

Lucius pulled out the chair at the head of the table and indicated that Hermione should be seated. She gave him a formally gracious smile and sat down. Once she was comfortable Lucius took his own seat on her right. The chairs were made of heavy, dark wood and had high backs. Here was another room Hermione had spent very little time in before now, and she admired the detailed carving on the arms of the chairs. She was still amazed that she owned all of this. Noticing Lucius watching her, a half-smile on his lips, she turned her attention to him.

“I have to say, I’m quite impressed with your ability to persuade the house-elves to assist you.”

He smiled in amusement. “I think we should wait and see what is actually served for dinner before you congratulate me on my new-found egalitarianism.” Hermione couldn’t help but grin, remembering the freezer-burned frozen dinner from earlier in the day. However, as soon as he was done speaking, elegantly prepared hors d’oeuvres arrived on their plates and wine appeared in their glasses.

Hermione took a bite of a delicate creation of cucumber, salmon, and dill; her eyes widened in pleasure as it melted in her mouth. “I don’t know how you’ve managed it, but you’ve definitely won over the elves in the kitchen.”

Lucius smiled enigmatically. “Apparently I haven’t lost all of my innate charm,” he replied smoothly, winking at her.

Hermione felt herself flush and was glad for the low lighting; she doubted Lucius would be able to tell, although she was certain he was attempting to elicit a response from her. However, as the dinner progressed, Lucius kept the conversation light, providing her with little-known bits of history about the manor, his childhood, and his own interests. Without giving the appearance of outwardly controlling the conversation, he avoided any controversial topics while proving to be an amiable and amusing host.

By the time the fruit and cheese arrived Hermione had learned that the swimming pool had been installed by some great-great-great-great-uncle (she had lost track of the number of “greats”) in the early 1800s when “taking the waters” was popular in the wizarding world, and the same long-ago uncle had developed a perpetual heating spell that kept the main swimming pool at a comfortable 81 degrees in the summer and automatically heated the water further in colder temperatures. However, the modified Impervius spell that kept the pool and its surrounding deck area dry in even the most inclement weather hadn’t been introduced until 1857, and had to be renewed every twenty years to ensure there were no leaks.

She also learned that Lucius had gotten along well with his grandfather, Asgeir, but had had a very contentious relationship with his own father, Abraxis. Furthermore, she now knew Lucius was an avid swimmer, an accomplished equestrian, and an enthusiastic dog-lover but hadn’t had any dogs since he had married Narcissa, as she couldn’t abide dog hair. When he had suggested non-shedding dogs such as poodles, she had declared she wouldn’t allow anything with paws in her house; Lucius refused to keep dogs in a kennel separate from the house, preferring to have them as companions in the home. Hermione had pondered the dog issue; Crookshanks had been safely ensconced with Ginny before the War had begun, and had settled in so comfortably that Hermione hadn’t had the heart to uproot him again. Maybe she should get a dog. Or two.

When the fruit and cheese plates arrived, Lucius took a sip of his wine and smiled broadly. “Enough about me. I know I’ve dominated the conversation, and for that I apologize, but I felt you would be more comfortable if you knew more about your, ah, house-guest.”

“House-guest?” Hermione blurted out.

Lucius gave her a half-smile. “What would you call me?”

“Honestly, I hadn’t considered it. Roommate isn’t quite the right word.” She smiled. “‘Manormate’, maybe,” she considered. “I dunno. I think I’ll just call you Lucius and leave it at that.”

His lips twisted appreciatively. “Fair enough.” He sat back in his chair. “So tell me, Hermione. If all this – the war and all that came with it – hadn’t happened, what would you be doing now?”

Startled by the question, she ate a grape before answering, although there was no doubt as to her answer. “I’d have apprenticed myself to a Potions Master and eventually gone into research.” She had an immediate memory of the acrid smell of the potions classroom; it was a comforting smell. “There are so many avenues I’d like to explore,” she added, not realizing she had slipped into the present tense.

Lucius nodded slowly. “Ah, yes. The pleasure of a ‘softly simmering cauldron.’ I do recall you had a great mastery of potions while you were in school.” At her look of surprise, he continued. “It was my business to know what was going on at Hogwarts. Your abilities were certainly not overlooked. Do you have plans to return to the study of potions?”

“I, uh, I hadn’t actually given it much thought,” she responded truthfully.

“The manor is equipped with a very satisfactory potions laboratory. I used to enjoy the exploration of potions myself, when I was younger. Before I became immersed in other, ah, activities which required more of my time.” His eyes became unfocused for a split second, and Hermione wondered where his memories had taken him.

“I’ll have to take a look at it,” she responded, wondering uncertainly what sort of potions would have interested Lucius.

“I’d be more than happy to show you. I’m sure some of the more perishable items in the ingredients locker will need to be replenished, but the laboratory and its apparatus should be in excellent condition.”

“That would be nice, thank you,” she responded, wondering where she would find the funds to fully stock a potions locker. Something to worry about some other time. Not tonight, she chided herself.

“And I’m sure my old friend Severus would be more than happy to assist you in your continued study of potions. I’m sure he would be equally willing to help you develop your research interests and to put you in contact with experts in those areas.”

I’m not so sure about that, Hermione thought, noticing that Lucius spoke as though he would personally ensure that Severus was “willing” to help her, whether her former Potions Master was interested or not.

“Assuming, of course, you are still interested in pursuing the study of potions.” Lucius’ statement came across as a question.

“Erm, well, that is, I hadn’t actually given it much thought. The last few months have been a bit of a whirlwind, and I haven’t really thought much about my future.” She paused, not really wanting to explain that since she had acquired the manor she hadn’t considered her future because of her lack of available funds.

The blond wizard nodded. “You are young, and you have had a number of other, more pressing issues to deal with. You have your entire life ahead of you.” He pressed his lips together briefly, his face registering nothing. “Would you care to join me in the library for some port? Or a brandy, perhaps?”

Hermione let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. “A brandy might be nice,” she agreed, wondering briefly how much longer he anticipated the evening lasting. It wasn’t a case of not enjoying herself. Lucius had been a very pleasant companion, and the dinner had been wonderful, leaving her satiated but not feeling overly full. But she wasn’t used to this level of structure around a meal. On her own, she would be tucked up in the library with a good book and – she smiled inwardly at the irony – possibly some brandy.

Lucius stood up first, and at the last moment Hermione remembered she should wait to be assisted by the wizard. Stepping away from the table, Lucius offered Hermione his arm again, and they left through the large doors of the dining room.

***

Lucius poured brandy for both of them and handed Hermione a snifter. She held the glass at the base and stood near the fire, allowing the heat from her hand and the fire to warm the amber liquid. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Lucius studying her approvingly. She turned to look at him directly. “Good brandy, like scotch, must be treated with the appropriate respect.”

The blond wizard’s eyebrows rose slightly, but instead of commenting he lifted his glass in a toast. “To Hermione, the most incandescent witch to grace the halls of the manor for generations.” His grey eyes sparkled with a fiery intensity.

Flustered, she stammered a thank-you and took a quick sip of her brandy, conscious of Lucius’ teasing eyes on her.

Lucius hid his smile with his own glass; it was so enjoyable to flirt with Hermione because she didn’t really know how to respond. Her naivety was extremely refreshing; in all his life, the women he had encountered fell into three categories: women who were looking to sleep with him to get something from him, women who were terrified of him, and the Ice Princesses. Or Ice Princess, singular, as the case happened to be. It was amazing that Narcissa had managed to bear him even one child. To have had more than one would have required them to be intimate more than once. If there had been so much as a flicker of passion in Narcissa, he certainly had not been the one to discover it.

Hermione, however, was a completely different kind of woman; she was attractive, intelligent, and independent. She didn’t need anything from him and quite possibly didn’t even want anything from him, he considered ruefully. Yet she wasn’t running away from him. He was certain she was a passionate woman; her enthusiasm for life was genuine, and he was convinced that was the sign of a passionate woman, even if she herself hadn’t yet recognized it. Ah, Hermione. What a pleasant challenge you present. I do look forward to our developing association.

He gestured to the wing chairs, watching with amusement when she took “her” chair. His old chair. In a few decades the other chair would be equally comfortable. But it still wouldn’t provide the unobtrusive view of the door that his old chair did. Come, come, old boy. Be tolerant –this isn’t your library any more.

“I gather you’ve had a chance to acquaint yourself with the library. What do you think of it?” Lucius spoke smoothly, not wanting the evening to end. He honestly couldn’t remember when he had last enjoyed himself this much.

“I don’t think I’ve done much more than scratch the surface of the contents, so to speak. I confess I’m a bit surprised at the collection of Muggle literature I’ve come across. I wouldn’t have thought that, ah, that a prominent wizarding house would have such a large collection of writings by non-wizards.”

Lucius looked at her curiously. “Muggle literature? What do you mean? I believe I had a great-aunt who had a large appetite for gothic romance novels, but I assure you none of those were written by Muggles,” he replied, his brow slightly furrowed. “Perhaps you are thinking of authors who lived among Muggles, for one reason or another, but were most certainly not Muggles themselves. Of those authors, there are many works in this library. Which ones are you thinking of?” He was genuinely curious on this point.

“Wuthering Heights, Moby Dick, Macbeth, The Cask of Amontillado.” Hermione looked at Lucius skeptically. “Those are some of the most famous tales of Muggle vengeance and revenge in all of literature.”

“Muggles?” The wizard snorted derisively. “Hardly,” he drawled. His lips twisted in amusement. “Are you honestly telling me you think Edgar Allan Poe was a Muggle? Have you ever actually read any of his works?”

“Of course I have,” Hermione responded, slightly defensive.

“Then I can’t see how you could possibly think he was a Muggle.” Lucius stood up and went to a nearby set of shelves. He pulled a slim volume off a shelf and opened it, looking for a specific page. When he found the page he handed the book to Hermione, pointing to a passage. “Read where Montresor describes his family coat of arms.” Hermione read quickly while Lucius, not waiting, continued with his argument. “A snake sinking its fangs into the foot that is crushing it? ‘No one attacks me with impunity’? Sounds positively Slytherin, doesn’t it?”

“Poe was an American,” she replied, her mind still reeling.

“Just because one does not attend Hogwarts does not mean one cannot still possess some of the blood of the great Salazar,” Lucius replied loftily.

Hermione chose to let the “great Salazar” comment ride. “The Brontë sisters?” She didn’t even try to hide her incredulity.

“Witches. All of them. Didn’t Heathcliff strike you as a bit odd? Particularly when he hoped that Catherine’s ghost would stay with him in any form she wanted?”

Hermione snickered. “‘A bit odd’? He was a sociopath.”

Lucius smirked patronizingly. “True. But witches and wizards love tales of revenge. And,” he inclined his head, “the ‘sociopaths’ who inflict their revenge. The wizarding world is certainly not free of these ‘sociopaths’, as you call them,” he added.

“No kidding,” Hermione muttered.

The wizard ignored her and continued, “Take William Shakespeare as another example. ‘The Scottish play’?”

Hermione, whose eyes had drifted back to the bookshelf, turned them once again to Lucius. He took the slim work from her hands and reshelved it before taking his seat. “The Scottish Play”? The wizarding world uses that euphemism, too? How much did I drink tonight? I feel like Alice down the rabbit hole.

“The curse is most definitely real. You, ah –” he paused, clearly rethinking his words – “Muggles attribute strange goings-on surrounding the production of that play as the result of a curse, do they not?” Hermione nodded, fully expecting to see a white rabbit at any minute. “As a witch, I would have expected you to understand the full ramifications of the magic surrounding that particular work. The various mishaps that surround the play are not mere happenstance. Although,” the wizard paused, musing, “I always thought Bill was a little transparent with his liberal use of witches and ghosts in that particular play.”

“Bill”?She was speechless.

“Somewhere around here,” Lucius waved vaguely at another set of shelves, “are original editions of Christopher Marlowe’s works, including,” he smiled proudly, “a 1604 quarto of Dr. Faustus. And if you have any questions about Marlowe’s heritage, I would think Dr. Faustus would erase any doubts.”

Hermione found herself smiling. “Okay. I’ll grant you that one. Dr. Faustus – well, Marlowe – seemed to be just a bit too familiar with the Dark Arts. But a 1604 edition? And you don’t even know where it is? It’s priceless!” She tried to look severe but had a feeling she failed.

Lucius smirked in return. “It’s your library. It’s a shame it’s in such a state of disorder. You should probably do something about that.”

Hermione looked back at Lucius, now trying to suppress a smirk of her own. “Yeah, I probably should. It’s too bad the previous owner couldn’t have done something before the place was sold. It probably would have fetched a higher price.”

The blond wizard’s eyes narrowed briefly, but his lips curled into what might be described by some as a smile. “Fire sale,” he muttered. “No time to get things catalogued properly.”

Hermione decided to redirect the conversation; this was definitely heading into potentially dangerous territory. “Are you going to try to get me to believe Melville was a wizard, too? I always thought Moby Dick was rife with Christian themes of good and evil.”

“Good and evil are not proprietary notions of Muggles. If you haven’t noticed, our world –”

“Our world”? Mr. Pureblood Malfoy is including the two of us in the same universe? Where is the hookah-smoking caterpillar?

Oblivious to Hermione’s thoughts, Lucius continued. “– is equally rife with good and evil. However, whether Herman Melville was a wizard or not, I cannot say. My great-great-great-grandfather had some connection with him.” He waved his hand around the library again. “Somewhere in here there is a signed first edition of the novel from Melville to him, Grandfather Aquilinus.”

Hermione smiled at Lucius’ casual disregard for the library; she had a feeling that underneath his flippant words was a deep love for the library.

“Perhaps, in your admittedly limited free time,” Hermione grinned impishly, “you could help guide me through the contents of the library. They are almost overwhelming, and I could certainly use the assistance of someone who is familiar with the library and its organization.”

Lucius inclined his head graciously. “It would be my pleasure.” His voice came out like a purr, and Hermione felt herself flush as she looked at him.

Does he do that on purpose, or is it subconscious at this point in his life? Damn him.“Thank you, I’d appreciate the help,” she replied, trying to keep her voice even. She swallowed the last of her brandy and suddenly felt tired. She had no idea what time it was, but between the meal, the drinks, and a busy day, the fatigue she’d felt earlier came back full force. It was time for bed. She placed her glass on the side table by her wing chair and stood up. Ever mindful of his manners, Lucius stood as well.

“Thank you for everything this evening. It has been wonderful. The most wonderful evening I’ve had in a very long time, in fact. But I find myself worn out by the day. I think I had best retire before I find myself falling asleep in my chair.” She smiled apologetically.

Lucius nodded. “Thank you for the company this evening. Similarly, it has been a very long time since I have enjoyed myself as much as I have this evening. I hope you will allow me to continue this practice in the future.” He reached for her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles. “And, please, allow me to escort you to your rooms.”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you.” Is he planning on giving me a kiss goodnight on my front doorstep? Where did that even come from? He’s just playing the role of the perfect gentleman. Or maybe he actually is a perfect gentleman. Nah. I don’t think former Death Eaters are allowed to be perfect gentlemen. Even reformed Death Eaters. It’s definitely time to go to bed. Hermione took Lucius’ proffered arm, hoping he wasn’t particularly skilled in Legilimency. If he was, he didn’t seem to be employing it. Thank Isis for that!

They spoke about the dinner and the history of the house and the library as they walked down to the doors of the master bedroom suite. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if Lucius missed his old rooms, but she didn’t think this was an appropriate time to mention it. Instead, she stopped outside the door and removed her arm from his. “Thanks again for this evening. I really enjoyed myself. And nice work with the house-elves,” she added, smiling slyly.

Lucius smirked at her last words, and reached for her hand again. It wasn’t strictly proper to kiss her hand again, but he couldn’t resist. He brought her knuckles to his lips and whispered into them, “Sove frisk, meg kjære.” Sleep well, my dear. “Goodnight, Hermione. Thank you again for your company this evening.”

“Good night. I’ll see you in the morning,” she responded and then entered her rooms. Tired but relaxed, she undressed and readied herself for bed. She climbed into bed, stretched contentedly, and considered the evening. When was the last time I had an intelligent conversation with someone about books? With Ron and Harry? Never. She searched her memories and couldn’t come up with a single engaging intellectual conversation she’d had outside a classroom setting. Intelligent and handsome. And a former Death Eater, she reminded herself.

But there’s that whole business with the Killing Curse. He as much as admitted to it back in Azkaban, but why did he do it? I wonder if I’ll ever get that answer from him. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe the fact that he did it is enough. Even if the Ministry would never acknowledge it. Eh. Not something I’m going to worry about tonight. It was a fantastic night. A great dinner, great conversation, and a fantastic view.She giggled to herself. Lucius has got to be twenty years my senior. At least. And yet, damn. Damn! She shook her head in amazement. How long ago was it that Lucius Malfoy was near the top of my personal Most Hated Wizards list? Not even a year ago. And he was there for a long time. And yet now I’m drinking brandy with him and talking about how William Shakespeare was a wizard. Wow. This is crazy. But crazy fun. She smiled to herself, enjoying one final memory of Lucius in his finery, and then drifted off to sleep.

***

Lucius returned to the library and poured himself another brandy. He sat down in his newly-adopted wing chair and relived the events of the evening. Hermione was beautiful. The subtle use of makeup had highlighted her natural features; she hadn’t needed much as there were no flaws to conceal. And she was intelligent, even if she had some confusion regarding Muggle and wizarding authors. Understandable, as even many born into the wizarding world didn’t know the extent to which wizards had infiltrated the Muggle world.And it would give me a chance to work closely with her as we went through the library. He smiled in satisfaction. That was a task that could take years. A lifetime, if you were truly thorough. And there is no doubt in my mind that she’s a thorough young lady.

Then there is her interest in potions. I’ll have to consider carefully how to approach that; of course I want her to pursue her interests. She’s too intelligent to not chase her intellectual dream, and she’ll resent anyone who tries to stop her. But I’m not sure I want her to spend much time with Severus. If my “old friend” and compatriot has the chance to see Hermione as I’ve seen her, he’ll want her. Severus isn’t above playing nastily, and I could find myself at odds with the Ministry. Assuming, of course, that Severus still has any influence. I really can’t afford to anger the Ministry, but maybe Severus is a non-issue. Lucius took another sip of his brandy.This was a situation that was going to have to be broached carefully.

He sighed, pleased. Tonight had been an unqualified success. Hermione had definitely been impressed with his appearance and, if he could guess, was even more impressed with his success with the house-elves.

Lucius took another sip of his drink as he settled more comfortably into his chair and watched the flames dance in the fireplace. Life was good. Not perfect. Not yet. But it was good, and it had the potential to get much better.

~~~~

A/N: As always, a ginormous thanks to Mamacita-san for her invaluable editing help. Without her, this would be rough reading. Any errors are my fault, not hers!

And Lucius speaking Swedish? Why not? He's very well educated, and he wanted to pick a language Hermione probably didn't know. Yes, things are moving slowly, but really, they wouldn't just jump into bed with each other - not given their past histories. But they will. Just give them a chance. ;-) And for the record, I have actually started writing the next chapter, so hopefully it won't be another 12 years before I update again!
- 6
- 7
- 8
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Kill Shot